Ghostsofbaghdad

I remember that city well. It had all the rustic antiquity I would have expected from what used to be the center of science and reason far too many years ago, only updated with satellite dishes and an endless stream of traffic.

What I remember best, though, was a shadow that lingered in my eyesight long after I looked away. A mother and child, blackened either by smoke or lifelessness, curled together in an embrace that would last them an eternity.

I heard an explosion that never exploded, I felt a shockwave that never bursted. I saw the mother and child, flash-fried from reality as surely as only 110 millimeters worth of explosives could delivered from from our flying gunships. But I saw them, if briefly.

That city has a lot of ghosts. It hurts me to know that they will probably never rest.